


Like A Greaser, She’s Ready To Rumble

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Category: Glee
Genre: Female Character of Color, Gen, Sass, Season/Series 02, Self Confidence, harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mess up her outfit and prepare to rumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Greaser, She’s Ready To Rumble

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm completely convinced that Kurt and Mercedes would indulge in musical cosplay of some sort. Remember The Sound of Music Sing-Along? Yeah, they would totally do that. The source material for her final snap at Azimio is Homey D. Clown for those of you who have never heard of him. Finally, I will remind you that no one pushes around Mercedes Jones around.
> 
> Thanks to lexalicious70 for beta reading. 
> 
> Disclaimer:I do not own any of the characters herein. The characters of Mercedes Jones and the rest of Muppet Babies are the property of their creators and Fox Studios. Any deviation (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.

After much pleading and waxing poetic about the cultural significance of _Grease,_ Mercedes relented and decided to join Kurt’s in his quest to commemorate the fortieth anniversary of the musical.   
  
Of course, their tribute was not limited to song. As she approached her locker, the crowd of book-toting and harried students parted like a sea around her. This was not in her imagination. This was real.   
  
And this attention was a consequence of Kurt’s design. See, they weren’t merely celebrating the film, but paying homage to Danny Zuko and Sandy Olsen through gender-bent fashion. She was Danny Zuko and somewhere in this building Kurt was channeling summer love-drunk Sandy in angora and a masculine poodle kilt.   
  
As Mercedes strode to her locker, she looked every inch of the bad girl greaser. With hair slicked back and wrangled up into a ponytail pompadour and her classic black and white ensemble: tight black jeans, faux leather motorcycle jacket, and distressed white shirt, Mercedes almost gave herself chills.   
  
Because baby, she looked good.   
  
Damn good.  
  
She posed in her locker mirror, admiring just how well she pulled off greaser-chic when she heard her name called. If this scene had been a part of a parable, it would have been Narcissus. Too distracted by her exceptionally gorgeous reflection that day prevented her from hearing the worried tone that accompanied her name as it floated down the hallway.   
  
As soon as she turned away from the mirror, her smiling face was doused in ice cold cherry slushie. What followed was a scream that would have intimidated Patti LaBelle.   
  
Mercedes wiped handfuls of cherry ice off her face and glared at the culprit, who brazenly stayed behind. Azimio was bowled over in laughter, clutching his sides as he enjoyed her brutal humiliation.   
  
To Mercedes, this display of pure asshatery proved that he was definitely more creature than boy. _Ignoramus Maximus_ , she liked to think, one half of the unstoppable gruesome twosome of Dumb and Dumbass. Thing Two was without his conjoined slushie throwing twin, Thing One. He was surely lacking in commonsense, the kind which would have told anyone else to leave the scene of their crime. No, Azimio continued to laugh and Mercedes’ anger boiled.   
  
She brushed the ice off her jacket and realized, upon looking at her white shirt, that it was ruined. “Are you crazy?” Mercedes screamed.   
  
Her shriek only served to make Azimio snicker harder. “You were looking a little too hot today, Jones. Just thought I’d _cool_ you off,” Azimio howled and high fived a few of his passing fellow jocks.   
  
Her outfit had been sheer perfection. The jacket and jeans were salvageable, the white shirt though was toast and her hair—rule number of perm maintenance, be they relaxer or curly perms: never get them wet. Legally Blonde taught the world that lesson.   
  
The ice soaked through her shirt and Mercedes began to see the outline of her new bra. Just because it was new did not mean that she wanted the whole world to see it, as was the case in about a minute. She and Kurt believed in constructing outfits from top to bottom and inside and out, making new underwear a necessary purchase, and the proverbial icing on top on the cake.   
  
Mercedes crossed her arms over her chest, though by the looks of Azimio’s climbing eyebrows, he had gotten a peak at Brandy and Monica, her chest twins, and she was not happy about it. This time she wouldn’t let him get by with being a jerk. She was angry and tired of Azimio’s, and by extension, Karofsky’s, incessant need to torture her and her friends.   
  
Mercedes had had enough.   
  
And Azimio would learn this very shortly.   
  
She started strong and fast like a hurricane of cherry fury. “One, you are a huge jerk. Haven’t you realized you can blind someone by flinging, um, _Big Gulps of chipped ice at them_?” She ticked off a second point on her fingers, “Two, you will be paying for this shirt. I. guarantee. that.”  
  
Azimio shook his head, somewhat ignoring her declarations and swatted the air, as if he was sweeping away an annoying bug from his eyesight. She saw his gestures for what they were: empty posturing.   
  
“Three,” Mercedes continued, fully aware that a few of her friends had arrived on the scene and where waiting to back her up, if given the signal to do so. “I think we’re a little too old for tattling, but you--” she growled at Azimio, “ you need yo’ butt kicked. So I’m telling yo' mama and yo' grandmamma.” The benefits of living in a small town was that everyone knew everyone and their families. Neither of the Mrs. Adams would be happy to hear about Azimio’s behavior. He was too dumb to realize that she was one enemy who would put all of his business in the street and literally in his mama and his grandmama's laps.   
  
Thinking of her potent revenge, Mercedes almost smiled.   
  
Correction, she _did_.   
  
Azimio‘s carefree expression sobered gradually into a nervous grimace. The mask of bravado was betrayed by his frantic eye flicking. “You can’t do that!” None of his letterman buddies came to his rescue, leaving him alone to face the wrath of someone who would and could fight back. “Look, I’m sorry. I can--” he tried to plead.  
  
Mercedes stopped then. His half-hearted excuses weren’t worth much and she didn’t care to hear them, not after all the times he had gone out of his way to torment and humiliate her and her friends. “You know what? Stop, just stop. Because you’re making yourself look an even bigger fool than you already are.”   
  
She took a deep breath and tried to temper her rage, but that proved to be a hard won battle. Azimio had never been on her good side, never would, and the longer he stood in her presence wearing that dumb expression reminded her of the little chitchats she’d had with Puck about impulse control. Namely, the fact that the two of them had problems with it. Considering that Azimio had already humiliated and insulted her that day, there was no need to dredge up other instances of personal frailties.   
  
Her shirt was thoroughly soaked through, leaving her pretty black bra with tiny purple bows on the cups exposed. “You said I _looked_ hot, oh baby, let me _tell_ you: I am always hot. It’s sad that you just noticed.” By raising her arms, Mercedes gave Azimio a view that few had ever seen and even fewer deserved to see.   
  
“Preach,” Artie echoed behind her.   
  
Damn right, she was on a roll.   
  
She turned her back on Azimio, stood taller with her spine straight and prepared to walk away. “Now I need to go and clean up, because I won’t let you or anyone else ruin what’s left of my outfit or my day.”  
  
Tina, Kurt, and Artie were waiting for her, all with brimming with excitement at the righteous smackdown that she’d delivered. Mercedes was more than ready to be whisked away to the bathroom and also ready to cry as well. Her hair and her shirt were ruined. There was a backup shirt in her locker; unfortunately, it wasn’t white. Her hair was a lost cause, because she doubted even Kurt had a flat iron in his magic satchel of tricks, product and fashion accessories.   
  
Their journey to the nearest bathroom was interrupted by the sound of Azimio’s voice, far more subdued than she'd ever heard it saying, “I am sorry. Really, I am.”  
  
She had a hard time believing that. Mercedes turned around and regarded him with an unimpressed expression. “Good.”  
  
He looked ready to plead. Again. “Yeah, I’ll buy you a new shirt and maybe, I can do something else for you.” He walked up to her with his hands in his pockets. The only thing missing from the puke-inducing scene was a scuffed toe, then he'd look every inch the pathetic man-child who terrorized the halls of McKinley High. Now he wanted to be contrite when the possibility of his mother and grandmother learning that their precious Zim was a bullying ass was on the table. He wanted to pretend to be shy and reserved. In the words of her favorite clown: Homey don't play that. This was a flimsy facade if she'd ever seen one. Like the Congressman with the tapping foot thing in the airport bathroom. Just tragic.  
  
“Maybe, I can take you out to a movie or Breadstix or something,” he said. “Um, never knew you were so sassy.” Just like that, the Old Azimio was back, proving to Mercedes that a leopard didn't change its spots. “I do _loves_ the ladies with the fire inside and right now, _girl_ , you are smokin’.”  
  
Mercedes wanted to gag. Kurt almost retched on her behalf. He immediately slapped his hand over his mouth to ward off any future urges to vomit. From sad to sleaze in less than sixty seconds. That had to be some kind of record.   
  
Azimio didn’t help his cause with the subtle as a nail in the head exploration his eyes took of Mercedes’ chest.   
  
“Are you serious?” she asked.  
  
“Most definitely,” he replied with a smarmy smirk. “I think you could be the girl to put me in my place.” Her go out with _him_?   
  
“Uh huh,” she muttered. Mercedes glanced to her friends. Tina’s look of horror alone made her decision easy. “I think En Vogue said it best, by saying,” Never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get it, never gonna get it--” she paused, “And never gonna get it. Now excuse me, I must go get cleaned up.”  
  
He was literally gobsmacked.   
  
And Mercedes felt amazing. Like Sasha Fierce and Grace Jones in one nice and not so neat little package.   
  
Artie gave her five, while Tina grabbed her hand and Kurt wrapped an arm around her, though careful to not get any of the residual syrup on his Sandy-inspired angora sweater.   
  
Mercedes was grossed out to the nth degree.   
  
She got Azimio Adams hot? _Ew._  
  
But wielding her sass and attitude like that blade Tina was always talking about gave her chills. Her friends would clean her up and Mercedes would remember how awesome she looked earlier that day. The day would end with her and Kurt owning _You’re The One That I Want_ in glee, proving once more that they were formidable divas in waiting.   
  
Like Danny Zuko, Mercedes had chills, probably from the lingering slushie syrup, but she was determined to not allow any bullies, slushies, Coach Sylvester or bad fashion get her down. Mercedes need only to remember that she was already electrifying.


End file.
